


Not Exactly Protocol

by EdgarAllenPoet



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Galaxy Garrison, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut, Spanking, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, When life gives you more important things to write, write out your sexual fantasies instead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 11:45:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12058332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgarAllenPoet/pseuds/EdgarAllenPoet
Summary: “   'Guess I’ll just have to finish the job,' Shiro said, actually making it sound like a chore.  Keith shot him another glare, which Shiro cut off with a coy smile and an easy command.  'Count.'   "





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Those of you waiting for another nonsexual spanking fic, it'll be on its way shortly.
> 
> There is gonna be a chapter two for this though, which'll just be showing what went down in Iverson's office earlier that day (aka, nonsexual spanking). I was gonna write it tonight, but I have class in seven hours, and it's too early in the semester to be an absolute disaster.

For the second time in less than twelve hours, Keith Kogane found himself bent over a desk with his pants around his knees.  A rough hand ( _ Shiro’s _ rough hand.  Keith was tender enough to feel every papercut and callous, and  _ God _ it was driving him crazy) rubbed gently over his already aching flesh as Shiro let out a long, impressed whistle. 

 

“Damn…” he murmured.  Even the Garrison Golden Boy was prone to cursing when superiors weren’t around.  “They really did a number on you.  What’d you do to piss Iverson off?” 

 

“Nothing.  I pissed off Montgomery.   _ She _ told Iverson.”  Professor Montgomery had promised Keith unholy retribution if he didn’t get his act together, but Keith wasn’t known for heeding warnings.  His first mistake was talking back to Professor Montgomery during class.  His second mistake was talking back to her in the PT he’d earned for his first mistake.  His third mistake was getting lost on the way to Iverson’s office and showing up to his disciplinary meeting three minutes late.  The earful he’d gotten for that had almost been worse than the paddling.  Almost. 

 

“How many did they give you, cadet?” Shiro asked, squeezing Keith’s left ass cheek none too gently.  Keith had to suppress a groan, curling his fingers into the desk he was braced against and melting a little inside.  He had a soft spot for protocol, but only when it came to Shiro.  

 

“Twelve,” Keith answered, and then immediately hissed in a startled breath when Shiro dug his nails in.  The words that flew out of his mouth were almost involuntary.  “Ah! Fuck- fuck you,” he grumbled, dropping onto his elbows and resting his forehead against the desk.  That earned him a throaty chuckle from Shiro- the one that stirred all kinds of things up in Keith.  The one that was just a little too dark to be innocent.

 

“What was that?” Shiro asked, digging his nails in again.  Keith didn’t bother trying not to squirm.  “Twelve licks with the paddle and you still haven’t learned your lesson?” 

 

Keith pushed his hair off his face and glanced back at Shiro over his shoulder, wrinkling his nose up as he did so.  “Don’t say licks,” he complained.  “That’s weird.” 

 

“What do you want me to call it?  Swats?  Spankings?” 

 

Keith’s stomach flipped over at that, and it was honestly embarrassing how turned on he was getting from all of this.  He shouldn’t be embarrassed, he knew, because this was Shiro and it wasn’t like this was the first time they’d done something like this.  

 

He certainly hadn’t been turned on in Iverson’s office earlier- more like mortified, kind of scared, and really fucking mad.  Now though, bent over  _ Shiro’s _ desk in  _ Shiro’s _ new lieutenant’s office, having his hot commanding officer boyfriend call him ‘cadet’ and run his hands all over him.  Keith was more than a little hot and bothered. 

 

“Guess I’ll just have to finish the job,” Shiro said, actually making it sound like a chore.  Keith shot him another glare, which Shiro cut off with a coy smile and an easy command.  “Count.” 

 

Keith’s hips knocked into the desk as he jerked forward, polished wood cold against his bare skin.  He bit back a groan and dropped his forehead into his arms, keeping his elbows firmly on the desk and straightening his back again.  “One.” 

 

“Good boy.”  Keith blushed at the praise, face heating up because it was  _ ridiculous _ .  He kind of had the opposite of a praise kink- words of encouragement made him feel more embarrassed and stupid than anything, but Shiro really liked letting people know he was proud of them, in and out of the bedroom.  It was something Keith could get used to.  

 

“You are red hot, buddy,” Shiro said, petting Keith gently again, causing him to practically sag against the desk.  “Sore?” 

 

Keith didn’t bother biting his groan back this time.  “Like you wouldn’t believe.” Shiro’s palm fell on the tops of his thighs this time, two smacks in quick succession.  It was an area untouched by the paddle, but still terribly tender.  It stung and he gasped quietly as a result of it. 

 

“Count,” Shiro reminded.  Keith sighed in annoyance.  

 

“Two and three,” he recited. 

 

Shiro issued three more spanks after that.  Two to the tops of his thighs, and one right in the middle of his ass, which hurt enough to surprise a startled yelp out of him.  Keith buried his face in the crook of his elbow.  Shiro laughed again, quiet and breathy and terribly amused. 

 

“Four, five, six,” Keith said eventually, talking into his sleeve and keeping his face hidden.  Shiro hummed quietly at that, his hand resuming its gentle treatment of Keith’s ass, petting him like his skin was made of velvet.  Everywhere he touched sent out pinpricks of pain from his previously abused skin.

 

The other hand was warm and heavy as it slid up the middle of Keith’s back, petting him through his uniform and then running gently over his hair.  Keith hummed happily, and he could practically hear Shiro smile. 

 

“Learn your lesson yet?” Shiro asked, his hand travelling over Keith’s ass and down to caress his upper thigh.  His fingers brushed the inside of his thigh as he ran his hand up and down, and Keith practically keened from it. 

 

“ _ Please _ ,” he blurted out, word coming out in a single breath.  Shiro squeezed gently.  Keith pushed his ass back into Shiro’s touch, begging for more.  “Shiro, come  _ on _ .” 

 

A pitiful sounding whimper escaped his mouth when Shiro snapped his hand down again, then seamlessly resumed petting.  “I asked you a question.” 

 

Keith dropped his head onto the desk.  His boyfriend could be so annoying.  “Yes,” he answered.  “Yes, I learned my lesson, _ just touch me already _ .”

 

That earned him another slap, but it was quickly followed by Shiro’s hand slipping up and between his legs, middle finger finding his clit effortlessly from practice.  Keith’s yelp melted into a moan as he melted against the desk, mouth falling open and eyes falling shut.  “Oh fuck…” he whimpered, pushing back into Shiro’s hands.  Shiro’s free hand slid to his hip and squeezed firmly.  Keith wriggled into it. 

 

“Well  _ that _ was a happy noise,” Shiro commented, working Keith over in tantalizingly slow circles.  Keith didn’t have it in him to be embarrassed anymore. 

 

“Shuddup,” he muttered.  “Oh  _ fuck _ , right there-”

 

“Happy spot?” Shiro asked, voice playful.  “Get up on your back.  I want to eat you out.” 

 

Keith was one hundred percent on board with that plan.  He straightened up fast enough to get dizzy, and Shiro’s hands catching his shoulders were the only thing that kept him from stumbling.  He practically scrambled out of his boots and uniform pants, kicking both across Shiro’s office as he turned around and hopped back up on the desk.  

 

It ached, a deep, gnawing muscle ache when he settled down on the desk, and the pain made something happy flutter around inside of him.  A taste of corporal punishment from the Garrison wasn’t fun by any means, but that didn’t stop Keith from being a masochist.  He could still enjoy the aftermath. 

 

Shiro gripped Keith’s ankles and tugged him forward, causing Keith to laugh and drop back onto his elbows as Shiro dropped to his knees.  He pulled Keith’s legs over his shoulders, and he shot him another smirk before closing his eyes and leaning in. 

 

It wasn’t long after that Keith was coming apart, toes curling and back arching, one hand gripping the edge of the desk and the other curled into a fist that Keith was biting down on to keep quiet.  It was after lights out, and there was no reason anyone would be in the officer’s study hall this late, but still.  They didn’t need to risk it more than they already were. 

 

Keith shook apart under Shiro’s mouth, the pain and the touches and everything else coming together in a beautiful cacophony that had Keith seeing white behind his eyes and knocking his head back against the desk.

 

By the time he caught his breath and found the willpower to move, Shiro was already moaning around an orgasm, hand working quickly over his trousers and head lolling against Keith’s thigh.  Keith pushed himself back up on his elbows and watched him, shooting Shiro a blissed out smile when he sighed happily and picked his head back up. 

 

“Good?” Shiro asked him, kneeling up a bit straighter as Keith sat up fully and hunched back over to meet Shiro halfway.  He dropped a kiss to the top of Shiro’s head and let himself settle there.  

 

“Perfect.” 

 

Shiro’s hands found his hips again, and he squeezed gently.

 

“Perfect,” Shiro agreed, then turned his head and pressed a kiss to Keith’s jaw.  “I’m serious, though.  You keep getting yourself in trouble, and you’re going to get court marshalled.  You have to watch yourself.” 

 

“Whatcha gonna do if I don’t?” Keith teased.  “Spank me?” 

 

“Get yourself expelled, and I’m never spanking you again,” Shiro threatened, and well… shit.  That was motivation if Keith had ever heard it.  

 

“I’ll be good,” he said solemnly.  Shiro laughed as he pushed himself to his feet. 

 

“Glad we’re on the same page.”  He stooped down and picked Keith’s pants up off the floor, and he held them out as Keith got himself up off the desk.  “Here, get dressed and we can go watch stars from the roof.” 

 

“You mean  _ make out _ on the roof,” Keith shot back, easing his pants up his thighs and wincing as the material scraped over his raw skin.  He was going to be feeling it for a while.  He would have been feeling it anyways, but he knew he had to have two Shiro shaped handprints back there now too.  

 

Worth it. 

 

“You’re trouble, Kogane,” Shiro said, which wasn’t a no.  Keith tied his boots and followed Shiro out the door.  It felt poetic, almost, like something someone would write in a story about them.  Shiro couldn’t tell him no, and Keith would follow him anywhere. 

 

In the end they laid on their backs stargazing, shoulders pressed together and fingers pointing out constellations both real and imaginary.  “We’re going up there one day,” Shiro said, pointing to something shining right in the middle of the Big Dipper’s scoop.  For the second time in twelve hours, Keith found himself smiling like a lovestruck fool.  He was ridiculously fond of Takashi Shirogane.  Based on the smile Shiro shot to him, easy and happy and 100 watts bright, he was pretty fond of Keith too.


	2. Exactly Protocol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened in Iverson's office earlier that day

“Not only were you out of line by arguing with Sergeant Montgomery in front of her entire class, you disregarded her instruction  _ again _ in the physical training your actions earned you.  This kind of behavior is entirely unacceptable.  We set standards here at the Galaxy Garrison, and we not only expect our students to meet them, we require it.  Am I making myself clear?” 

 

Commander Iverson was angry enough that a vein was protruding on the side of his neck.  His entire demeanor was tense and angry, like a poorly held back spring ready to snap.  Professor Montgomery (or, excuse him-  _ Sergeant _ Montgomery, since he was in trouble) stood off to the side of the room with her arms crossed and a stern expression on her face.  Something in her eyes looked a little too pleased to be witnessing this. 

 

Ah, well.  Keith supposed he deserved it. 

 

He answered as soon as the question was asked, “Yes sir,” which Iverson accepted before launching into another tangent. 

 

He’d been going for five minutes already, but Keith knew he could go for longer.  Keith had seen him degrade flight classes for forty-five minutes at a time, wasting all the time they had for simulations and bringing the thinner skinned students to tears. 

 

Well, Keith wasn’t thin skinned, and he already made up his mind: he wasn’t going to cry. 

 

He kind of wanted to, though.  Commander Iverson was feeling especially sadistic that day, and he’d set out a display on his desk just to let Keith know. 

 

The huge oak structure was cleared- papers stacked nicely off to one side, pens and books set aside on a shelf nearby -save for one item, a mean looking wooden paddle sitting right in the middle of it. 

 

It had been a bit of a shock when he’d walked in, and Iverson had looked pretty damn pleased about that before he started ripping Keith a new one.  The email he’d gotten that morning hadn’t really forewarned him for any of this.  It was very simple: 

 

“ **Cadet Kogane:**

 

**Report to office 2045 at 1800 hours for disciplinary meeting.**

 

**-Commander Iverson.”**

 

Shiro had been sitting next to Keith at breakfast when the message chimed in on his data pad, and he’d dropped his head into his hands with a sigh.  “What did you do?” he asked.

 

Of course, Keith knew that this was an option.  It was a poorly kept secret that pushing Iverson too far could result in meeting the business end of a paddle.  Even Shiro had gotten it once, after getting caught drinking as a senior cadet.  He’d been twenty at the time, so not only was he under age, but he was breaking strict rules about consuming any sort of intoxicants while on Garrison grounds.  

 

“How many times did they hit you!?” a cadet with wide, awed eyes asked.  A small crowd had gathered around the table at lunch the day after it happened, all of them wanting first hand information about what went down.   There was a blush high on Shiro’s cheeks and lighting up his ears, and he grinned bashfully before answering.

 

“Five,” he said.  

 

Shiro’s roommate- the skinny kid with the wild hair and wire framed glasses- leaned an elbow on Shiro’s shoulder and said, “Five is nothing.  They were just trying to make an example out of the Garrison Golden Boy.”  Shiro had been properly embarrassed by that comment, and he’d shown so by jabbing Matt in the ribs and knocking his elbow away. 

 

“Shut up, they were not.”

 

Keith had to disagree there.  Five swats was nothing, especially not for a major offense like drinking.  It was a walk in the park compared to what Keith had earned himself. 

 

“Assume the position and count them out.  You’re getting twelve.” Iverson said, picking the paddle up from the desk and spinning it in his hand.  Keith took a deep, steadying breath and tried to keep his face as expressionless as possible. He unbuckled his belt and shucked his pants to his knees, grateful for the small miracle that was permission to leave his boxers on.  It wasn’t a secret- it was in his documentation and marked on his student ID- but it wasn’t something he went around telling people, let alone  _ showing _ them, professor or no. 

 

He leaned over the desk and planted his hands on it, keeping his eyes straight ahead and definitely not flinching when Iverson tapped the cold wood against the seat of his underpants.

 

“That’s ten for your attitude problem and two more for not having the decency to show up here on time,” Iverson explained, tapping him again.  Keith’s breath caught in anticipation.  “Loud and clear now.” 

 

He raised the paddle up high and swung it down, and Keith wasn’t sure if he imagined the sound of it  _ whooshing _ through the air or if he actually heard it.  He definitely heard the  _ crack _ of it making impact, though.  The noise first, and then the pain, and Keith choked on his own breath and screwed his face up in a silent scream as he tried to pull himself together. 

 

“One sir,” he recited as soon as his breath was back, and not a second later the paddle slammed back down.  Keith wasn’t any more prepared for this one than the last, and he ground his teeth together hard to stay quiet. 

 

“Two sir,” he answered and was ready for the third smack that followed in quick succession. The first two were the worst, or at least the most startling.  The first one was a reminder of pain that he hadn’t felt in awhile, which always hurt worse than he remembered it hurting the last time.  The second was a surprise.  He hadn’t been expecting it to come that quickly. 

 

On the third, at least, he had a chance to brace himself.  His voice was clear- a tiny victory- as he recited, “Three sir.” 

 

Iverson smacked him again.  Keith felt like he was on fire.  One-third of the way there.  “Four sir,” he said, and he tried not to feel bitter about the fact that if he had a better reputation, he’d be nearly done.  

 

“It would be wise of you to apologize to Sergeant Montgomery as well, since she was the one you so blatantly disrespected.  You’re not in the position to do much else right now,” Iverson said, the suggestion coming out as a command and tone of voice as casual as he used for any other conversation.  Keith swallowed hard and spoke immediately. 

 

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” 

 

The paddle fell again, and the few seconds break did nothing but make the pain worse.  The fire lit back up in him before it even had a chance to properly simmer down, and Keith damn near choked on his own tongue in an effort to stay silent. 

 

When he spoke the number, his voice was just on the edge of out-of-breath.  “Five sir,” he said, and Iverson didn’t give him a chance to apologize this time.  He just raised the paddle and sent it crashing back down, harder than the five before it.  Keith scrunched his face up and hissed out a breath through his teeth, and it took him a moment to find his breath before answering, “Six sir.”

 

He felt like he was on fire, like he’d sat down on a bed of needles or the top of a stove.  It stung far worse than Keith had thought it would, the wood carrying an extra bite that something like, say, Shiro’s hand, didn’t.  It was almost unbearable, and they were only halfway through. 

 

That didn’t mean anything to Iverson.  Still uninterested in wasting time, he let another swing go with an ear ringing  _ smack _ ! Keith jerked away reflexively, back straightening as much as it could with his hands still on the desk, hips pulling as far away as he could manage.  Iverson grabbed him by the back of his uniform jacket and tugged him into position again without a second thought, open hand slapping the skin of his upper thigh as he did so and startling a grunt out of Keith- the first noise he’d made this entire time. 

 

“Stay still or we will start over,” he warned.  Oh no, no way in hell.  Keith would  _ die _ . 

 

He locked his elbows, straightened his back, and picked his head up to stare at the wall directly in front of him.  “Yes sir,” he answered, and they were right back to business. 

 

“Eight sir,” he answered, and felt his knees start to tremble under him. 

 

“Nine sir,” and he dug his fingertips into the wood of Iverson’s desk and hoped his stubby fingernails left unsightly indents.  Sweat rolled down the side of his face and dripped onto the surface below him.  He was on fire, overheating and burning alive.

 

He could barely catch his breath for the next one.  He had to hold his breath when the paddle landed, and remembering how to breathe after that wasn’t easy.  He couldn’t get the words to come out of his mouth until Iverson’s hand patted between his shoulder blades in a reminder.  “Breathe, cadet.  Don’t you dare pass out in my office,” he said, voice gruff and mean as always. 

 

Keith swallowed hard, closed his eyes, and said, “Ten sir.” 

 

The last two were slower.  Iverson paused after ten and took his sweet time delivering eleven.  He stood back and watched until the anticipation damn near had Keith squirming. He was just starting to look back over his shoulder when the paddle fell again.  Keith’s arms gave out under him, and he braced himself on his elbows instead, eyes flying to the desk in front of them and gluing themselves there.

 

Iverson had put his entire arm into the first ten, but he put his fucking shoulder into eleven.  He bit out a strangled, “Eleven sir,” and was left waiting again for twelve.  Waiting… waiting….  Iverson tapped the paddle gently against Keith’s ass, and Keith damn near flinched out of his skin.  Fuck.  Great.  Iverson must have gotten some satisfaction out of that one. 

 

“Last one,” he warned, and twelve was hard enough to jolt Keith forward.  He rocked up onto the balls of his feet and used all his remaining willpower to bite back a cry.  He squeezed his eyes against the way they were stinging, because he’d be damned if he was going to cry from this.  The pain was radiating through him now, from his ass up the middle of his back and all the way down to his toes, but they were done.  It was finally, finally over.

 

He bit out, “Twelve sir,” and dropped his forehead onto his folded arm to catch his breath.  Iverson stepped back and away with a quiet hum.  The paddle clacked loudly in the now quiet room, wood against wood, as he set it back down on the edge of the desk.  There was a murmur of conversation between Iverson and Montgomery that Keith didn’t pay any attention to, just a few words exchanged, and not long after Iverson’s voice was a touch louder and directed at him. 

 

“Straighten up, then,” he instructed.  “Get yourself back in order.  I won’t have you walking the halls of my academy with your pants around your knees, boy.” 

 

Movement reawakened whatever pain had settled down like a red hot poker, and Keith kept his expression very purposefully blank as he pushed himself upright and stooped to retrieve his pants from where they’d fallen around his ankles. 

 

“What do you have to say for yourself now?” Commander Iverson asked, face like a thundercloud and arms crossed.  With his belt buckled and tucked away, Keith strapped his hands to his sides and stood tall at attention.  It was humiliating to make the words leave his mouth, knowing he looked like a damn mess, red faced and sweating, bottom lip probably bruised for biting down on it so much.  He forced himself to keep his eyes up and on Professor Montgomery as he answered. 

 

“I apologize for being disrespectful, ma’am,” he said.  “It won’t happen again.”

 

“I should better well hope not,” Iverson said.  “If we have to repeat this evening, I promise you it will be much more severe than the tickling you got tonight.  We’ll see you tomorrow bright and early for a repeat of today’s failed PT.  I think you ought to work on sit ups tomorrow, Sergeant.” 

 

“Sounds good to me,” Montgomery said.

 

Even just the prospects of that made Keith want to consider throwing himself off the roof of the dormitories.  Instead he answered, “Yes sir.”  Iverson gave one curt nod, acquiesced for the time being. 

 

“Head down to the mess hall then and catch the end of dinner while it’s still available to you,” he instructed.  Keith raised a hand in salute, as was expected of him, and waited until Iverson and Montgomery both raised and executed their own before dropping it. 

 

“Dismissed,” Iverson said, and Keith turned on heel and made his way quickly out of the office.  The hallway was empty around him, and he took advantage of that by reaching behind him and rubbing the sting out of his butt as he walked.  It was  _ throbbing _ and he felt a burst of pain every time he took a step.  That was just great.  He was going to be feeling this for the next few days; he was sure of it.  He was  _ especially _ going to feel it while doing sit ups tomorrow.  Keith groaned pathetically and threw his head back as he pushed his way into the stairwell and headed out of the office building towards the canteen. 

 

At least he was hanging out with Shiro tonight.  If nothing else, he had that to look forward to.


End file.
